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she sits on dark grass

she sits on dark
grass,
like a migrating
bird with a broken wing,
calling his name.
the moon,
like a ball of bright
wool,
lazes softly in a tree’s
fork,
its feet hanging over into
space.
she has chosen night for her
task because she is empty.
there are no angels here.
a light rain
beats its gentle
rhythm on the
leaves,
a benighted
squirrel
jerks its hairy
head, suspicious
of the
silence; and
she
slips
slowly
away.

Currently unavailable for purchase



FEATURED IN:

“LIVE, LOVE, DREAM”

Tags

death, suicide, betrayal, grief, moon, trees, nature

Comments

  • highbeam
    highbeamover 2 years ago

    Dark grass, night time… death, a wholly conceived piece of writing, and a good one at that. Great job DV.

  • Many thanks, Russ. Glad you like it.

    – darkvampire

  • timbuckley
    timbuckleyover 2 years ago

    the moon like a bright ball of wool Ive noticed your descriptive powers never tire and are always fresh another wonderful write

  • Thanks very much, Tim. Much appreciated.

    – darkvampire

  • TheWanderingBoo
    TheWanderingBooover 2 years ago

    great write

  • Thanks, Boo.

    – darkvampire

  • UntamedDreamer
    UntamedDreamerover 2 years ago

  • Thanks for the feature, Holly.

    – darkvampire

  • su2anne
    su2anneover 2 years ago

    sublime!
    congrats on your feature
    suzanne:))

  • Many thanks, su2anne.

    – darkvampire

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